


the good ones

by pprfaith



Series: Wishlist 2015 [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Bechdel Test Pass, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: wishlist_fic, Gen, Not Beta Read, Post Chosen, Prompt Fic, The Chosen Two, Women Being Awesome, Zombies, the usual, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:45:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pprfaith/pseuds/pprfaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're hot chicks with super powers, but even they need people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the good ones

**Author's Note:**

> For _avamclean_ who asked for BtVS/TWD, Buffy and Faith running into Rick and deciding whether or not to hitch their wagon to his.

+

“So, what do you think, B?” Faith asks, looking around the sad little storefront they’re currently squatting in. It looks like it was abandoned even before the freaks came, because there’s graffiti on the walls and the wood used to board up the windows is starting to rot in places. 

Still, it’s been a good, sturdy home for the past… oh, three days. 

Faith’s definition of ‘home’ has always been iffy, but these days, it’s downright ridiculous. 

B is sitting cross-legged on her rolled-up sleeping bag. Her pack is sitting next to her, everything she possesses in it. Ready to grab and go. These days, most people keep their stuff on them at all times, but the Chosen Two tend to store their things. It’s strategy, for one. They both fight full throttle, using every part of their body as a weapon. Bags hinder them. And also, they’re more capable of returning for their shit than most people out there. 

After a long moment, her sister slayer finally looks up at Faith, nose scrunched up. “I don’t know.”

Faith looks through the backdoor and down the corridor beyond. It leads to a few storage rooms and an old office. At the end of it, a weapon in each hand, Rick Grimes, he of the drawling accent and the nasty beard, is waiting for them to make a decision. 

Faith’s not really all that good with guessing human capabilities anymore, but she’s pretty sure he can hear them, even without slayer enhanced senses. He doesn’t so much as twitch though. Giving them the time they need. 

He might be one of the good ones, if such a thing is left in this world. Call Faith a cynic, but she’s sure all the nice people died first. Except B. But B isn’t what and who she used to be either, so. Whatever. 

And even if he’s not a good guy, Rick is definitely a good fighter. And this Daryl he runs with… ho, boy, that’s some excellent red neck white trash goodness. Good with a crossbow, too. Faith kind of wants to climb him like a tree. So yeah, she’s all for taking Rick up on his offer to join his people. They’ve got some kind of gated community going on, he says, but won’t reveal more than that. High walls, enough food. Prime estate, these days. 

“They seem alright,” Faith prompts, watching the older woman cock her head, so-so. 

“We met them forty minutes ago, Faith,” Buffy reprimands. 

“And they haven’t tried to kill, rape, or rob us, yet,” Faith points out.

Rick flinches, just a little, but the predator inside of her takes notice. He can definitely hear them. Still, it’s true. He and Daryl where whacking a small horde of freaks when B and Faith came up on them looting their ‘breakfast place’. B calls it that, all dark humor, because it’s where they’ve been getting their food from the last couple of days. It used to be a Stop’n’Rob, and the basement is still half-full of shitty road trip snack food. The kind that can survive nuclear fallout. Or, ya know, the zombie apocalypse. It was barred by some heavy furniture and a dozen freaks, or so, but they made quick work of clearing the place out. 

And then Rick and Daryl tried to make off with their food. Not nice. Still, they helped the guys out, came, saw, slew something like thirty zombies in five minutes. 

At the end of that little show and tell, both men had eyes like saucers and Rick invited them to come with them almost flat out. Because they’re badass. 

“Also haven’t done us any favors. We saved them. While they were stealing our breakfast.”

Faith purses her lips and drops down next to her sister slayer, quietly assessing the older woman. They weren’t together when shit went down. Faith was in Cleveland, doing her thing, B was down in NOLA, blowing through to stop a minor cult problem before it became a major one. 

The last time they talked before the networks went down, B told Faith to batten down and stay put, she was coming. She had a group of over thirty with her then. By the time she reached Cleveland two months later, there were only five. 

She’s been too quiet ever since. Too removed. Fighting, eating, sleeping. That’s pretty much all big sister does these days. It was a bit better when they were around people, but now that they’re alone, Faith can see her slipping away a bit more each day. She doesn’t like it. 

At all. 

So B needs people. Because if they stay out here alone for much longer one of two things will happen. Either B will blow away on the wind one day, or Faith will die and B will be left alone to face this shit world. Because, let’s be real, Faith is good, but Buffy’s ability to spit death in the eye and walk away definitely means that Faith is gonna bite it first. She’s okay with that. They’re both in their thirties now and they’ve had a really fucking good run of it. 

What she’s not okay is leaving B to become some kind of savage hillbilly horror story, living in the woods, killing anything that moves. 

People. People are good. People ground B. Faith, too, if she’s honest, which she tries not to be. 

“Remember how the last time turned out?”

She winces. Yeah, okay. Last time they hit up a gated community was bad. Everything was fine and dandy at first, but then the Chosen Two were a bit too good at killing shit and people got skittish. It’s understandable, in a way. The freaks are monsters and people are hyperaware of anything out of the norm these days. Two super strong chicks? Might be something out of a comic book. Or might be a mutation. Might be turning. Might be dangerous. 

Fear is how the survivors roll in this world. So they left. Blew out of there in the middle of the night, before it could become a real witch hunt. Left behind the people they’d had with them, Council members, families of some of the Cleveland slayers. All that was left. They would have come with the two slayers, if given a choice, would have abandoned the safety the gates and walls offered them out of loyalty.

And they couldn’t have that. So they left, alone, and it’s been just them ever since. 

“Last time was freaky anyway,” Faith defends. “It’s the fucking apocalypse and these people were playing suburbia. Something had to give, B.”

Say whatever you want about Beard and Red Neck, suburbia they are not. 

“’Sides, pretty sure they’re aware that we’re not regular chicks.”

“Are not,” B counters and it sounds so petulant that Faith wants to fist pump in victory. It’s been weeks since she managed to elicit that tone. 

“They watched you rip a freak’s head off with your bare hands. Are, too.”

“I’m not the one who somersaulted off that roof.”

Faith waves her off. “It was only three stories. Shut up.”

Finally, finally, Buffy looks up from whatever she was staring at in mid-air. “You keep believing that,” she declares, then leans to look over at Rick, who is still waiting patiently for them to get a move on.

“What if they’re bad guys?” she asks.

“We deal with it,” Faith counters, calmly. She’s already won. 

“What if they’re good guys?” B returns, voice small.

“We deal with that, too,” Faith answers, aware that they might need some re-socializing before they’re fit to be around people again. They’ve both let the slayer gets too close under their skin, these last few months. It’s easy when there are no humans around to slow you down or judge.

With a huge sigh, B rolls to her feet and picks up her things before reaching down a hand to haul Faith up. 

They stand there for a moment, holding hands like they’re teenage girls again, scared of their destiny, instead of grown women who have looked destiny in the face and given it the finger. Then B, back to where Rick has been joined by a scowly Daryl, offers, “You just want to ride Daryl till he pops.”

Both men choke a little and then splutter, going red-faced under the grime. The smirk on B’s face says she did that on purpose.

Faith grins back as she grabs her own gear. 

“Like a bottle of Champaign,” she confesses, utterly shameless, before linking arms with B like they’re out for a stroll, nevermind the weapons strapped to their hips and thighs and the freaks howling outside.

They pass Rick and Daryl like that, and Faith takes the chance to blow them each a kiss and call, “Come on boys, daylight’s a-wasting!”

Daryl grumbles wordlessly under his breath and Rick claps him on the shoulder hard enough to send him a step forward, almost into Faith’s back. 

Daryl blushes. Rick cackles and Faith figures yeah, they’re probably good ones. 

+


End file.
